


beer, envy and penguins

by thecoolestfreak



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Swearing, also dont @ me about curtis he's the mvp and i tried to do him justice, technically au? but its after canon so whatevs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 07:55:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14039655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecoolestfreak/pseuds/thecoolestfreak
Summary: “Karen wants you to come, too.” Curtis insisted, and the rustling gets louder.“Babe, I’m telling him!” He hears Curt chuckle, and then he yelps. “I swear! I swear! I am!”Frank rubs his face with his hand. Fucking hell. If he has to hear one more cutesy session between them—Curtis and Karen date. Frank gets a wake up call.





	beer, envy and penguins

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t believe I have to be the sole provider for such a rich angsty idea. Y’all. Sorry for the couple spelling mistakes here and there. Enjoy!

Frank’s nightmare started like this.

 

* * *

 

Curtis got uncomfortable, sometimes, sure. But Frank knew Curt better than anyone else, being his best friend, and he knew he was brave, if need be. He’d tell him whatever it was, especially if it was important.  
  


Curtis folds the last chair and stacks it at the back of the Veterans support group room. Frank watches patiently as he clears his throat, rubs his hands, takes a deep breath and turns around to face him. Frank braces himself.  
  


“Look, man.” He starts, his voice deep. “I really like Karen.”

  
Frank blinks. “Yeah, she's great.”

  
“No,” he sighs, holding out his hands, “I _like_ her.” He raises his brow.

  
A lightning bolt shoots through Frank, from head to toe, and he feels paralysed. There is a long moment of tense silence. “You—”

  
“And if you don't want me to, I won't do a thing about it. You know me. I won't.” He waves his hands. Curt’s eyes are tight on Frank’s face.

  
His brain is still four miles behind. _Karen._ Of all—?

  
He thinks of something he shouldn't, in an elevator. It's not anything. It's not even any type of _thing_ whatsoever.

  
“Why… would I not want you to?” he says slowly. He barks out a laugh, too loud. He dials it back. “That's great, Curt. You should…” But he doesn't know what Curtis _should_ , because all he can hear is a roaring in his ears.

  
“If it bothers you, we can pretend I never brought this up. I had a feeling you two were…” Curtis trails off.

  
“No, no. We're not. We've never…” He trails off, too; even speaking the idea aloud seems like an admittance. He’s not entirely sure why he feels guilty about that. “That's great, man. Really. Are you gunna… ask her out?” He struggles, forcing the words out.

  
“I think so, yeah.” Curtis replies happily, satisfied. The smile Frank missed so much lights up the room. “I'm not sure she’ll say yes, but it's worth a shot.”

  
“Yeah. Yeah, of course, man. Good luck.”

  
That night, Frank doesn’t sleep at all.

 

* * *

 

She says yes.

  
Curt tentatively tells him how their first date went after the next group meeting, and Frank feeds himself leftover snacks to hide his shaking hands.

  
“She's funny, too. I don't think I appreciated that when you first introduced us.” Curtis smiles, stuffing half a cookie into his mouth.

  
Frank closes his eyes, and a bizarre vision of going back in time and stopping their meeting before it started flits through his brain. He mentally punches himself and opens his eyes again, but Curt is smiling wide and still talking and Frank doesn't hear any of it.

 

* * *

 

And he tolerates it like that for a while. It wasn't so bad. Whenever Curtis would bring her up, Frank would go to his happy place. His extensive need to disappear mentally in the militarily came in handy, because if he tuned back in even for a second he would hear something vomit-worthy, like “when she grabbed my hand, I think I saw about ten different strobe lights go off in my brain.”

  
It doesn't bother him. At least, it shouldn't.

 

* * *

 

Before their fifth date, Curtis insists Frank meet them for drinks afterwards. He doesn't quite know how to respond but to throw his phone at the wall, but he finds his voice, somehow. “I'm busy.”

  
“No you're not. You haven't been busy for months.” Curt replies, tone disapproving.

  
And dammit, he doesn't like disappointing Curtis.

  
“I—okay.” He sighs, and steels himself. “What time?”

 

* * *

 

As much as he'd tries to prepare himself, he should've fucking known she’d knock the pants off him anyway. She's dressed in a fancy dress, one he's never seen since they've worked together, and he wonders if she has a section in her closet for date clothes. A passing thought about what section dress she’d worn around him interrupts the stream, and he beats it back with a club.

  
“Karen.” he greets.

  
“Frank.” She replies, like she always does.

  
It was enough to make him forget Curtis was there, but he shimmies around Frank to plant a kiss on Karen’s cheek. Frank remembers pressing his forehead against hers, and wonders if Curtis has done the same.

  
“Hey.” she says to him, pressed close, and Frank suddenly feels very out of place. The people he cares about have found lives without him, and he finds he feels more hurt than he would expect.

  
“Hey. You want a drink?” Curt asks her, but Karen holds up the glass in her hand.

  
“Only part way through this one. I'm good for now, babe.”

  
“Frank? You want one?” Curt turns to him, thoughtful, as always, but he shakes his head.

  
“I'm good. Thanks.”

  
Curt gives him a long look, filled with meaning that Frank pointedly ignores, before leaving to bother the bartender.

  
He's left with Karen, who he hasn't seen since thanksgiving. When she'd met David, Sarah, and Curtis.

  
She looks good. Healthy. Her face was not too pale and there were no bags under her eyes, like there had been during his trial. He shamefully admits to most likely contributing to that.

  
“How've you been?”

  
“Better.” He says earnestly. He would not lie to her, because Red did that. He still remembers. “I'm not— I don't think anyone ever recovers, if that's the word. But I'm… better.”

  
Her answering smile is so soft, and he wants to press his nose into her dimples so badly he shakes.

  
“That's good. Curtis has been telling me you've been going to group every week.” She pauses, thinking. He barely has time to contemplate how long they potentially spend talking about him when she continues. “He likes to be open, but some things are harder to say than others. He said he was proud of you. Multiple times, actually. Then he said he'd tickle me if I told you, but I like playing with fire.”

  
When he couldn't muster the energy to laugh with her, she stopped smiling slowly.

  
“I just thought you might wanna know.” She finishes quietly, looking down at her drink.

  
“Thank you.” he tries. Everything he says or does lately feels wrong, and this was the worst he’d ever felt. She didn't deserve to be thrown around because he had the emotional maturity of a two year old. “It's nice to know he cares. It's nice to know anyone does.”

  
She gives him a look that says about a million things he has no way of interpreting by the time Curtis returns, so he tries for a smile. “I've been reading your work. It's…”

 

He can't think of a word. _Great_ is too little, but _interesting_ sounds like he's enthusiastic about serial killers. He has no interest in them.

 

It's Karen’s writing that draws him in, the wording unmistakeable, until he can hear her soft voice reading the words. “They're captivating,” he settled on. “I read every one.”

 

He didn't think he would ever see Karen Page blush. He should've figured it would only ever be over her work; he had observed hollow compliments rolling off her back more than once.

 

And it was just then that Frank realised how very much he missed her, all this time between thanksgiving and now. He had been such an idiot to think he could avoid her.

 

The red rose higher on her cheeks, and she brought her drink filled with ice up to press it against her face. “Thank you, Frank. That's really sweet.”

 

He opens his mouth to tell her how sorry he is that he ran away, that day in the elevator, and every moment since then that he could've gone to her.

 

Curtis returns before he can start. “That bartender was this close to starting a fist fight.” He says, slipping one arm over Karen’s shoulders and sipping his beer with the other.

 

“You wouldn't start a fist fight with a bartender!” she replies incredulously. She leans into his touch, and Frank finds himself staring at the contact.

 

Karen turns to him, laughing. “Would he?”

 

He blinks. “I wouldn't rule it out.” He licks his lips, tries for a chuckle. “He's done a lot of shady shit, our Curt.”

 

“Scwew you.” Curtis fires back, straw muffling his words.

 

* * *

 

On any other day, he would’ve been long gone. It took him too much time to realise that he was so fucking lonely he could hardly breathe, and here were the two people who made him feel much less alone in the world. So he stayed, but he never touched a bottle.

 

Karen is talking about Foggy. He leans forward to listen. Curt leaves and returns several times, sometimes with a beer, sometimes not. On his fourth break, Karen turns to Frank abruptly.

 

“Hey, did you um… did you ever know who Daredevil was?” she asks, tilting her head to stare at him. The gesture was too intense, and he finds himself having to look away from her prying eyes.

 

“Does it matter?” he replies, gruff.

 

There is a moment of silence. They’d been having a lot of those.

 

“I guess not.” She clears her throat. “Still. Sometimes I…” she stops. “Nevermind.”

 

He looks back for a second. The better angel on his shoulder smacks him, as he takes in the look of disappointment.

 

“What?” he concedes quietly.

 

“No, no. Forget it.” She tucks her hair behind her ear.

 

Curtis will be back any minute now, and beyond anything else he doesn’t want Karen to go home thinking worse of herself.

 

“Karen.” he persists, and she barks an unsettling laugh.

 

“You’ve made it clear enough you don’t want to hear a damn thing I say tonight, so what’s the point?” She drops her drink on the marble table with a loud _chlunk._

 

He winces. “I knew Red was your boy.” he admits.

 

“He's not mine.” she snaps back, fidgeting with her drink straw. Her voice turns sad. “At least, not anymore.”

 

I wishes he was able to comfort her, but he barely knows how to do it to himself. “I heard about that. I’m sorry.”

 

She sniffs. “Its fine.”

 

He sees straight through it. “I know the feeling —It’s not. Still, sorry for being an asshole about it.”

 

“It's okay. I should've made it clearer that I really like having you around.” She exhales a shaky laugh. “Maybe you can stop pushing me away?”

 

He closes his eyes, and wished that he could wake up and still be on trial. At least he would have an excuse to keep her company.

 

He couldn't exactly articulate why he avoided her, among the million other internal reasons he harboured and let fester. Most recently, he didn't want to tell her that seeing her with Curtis made him uncomfortable, and he doesn't understand why.

 

“You were in a bad spot last I saw you. Not thanksgiving— the….”

 

“Elevator. Yeah.” she finishes for him. There was a second of silence before she spoke again. “I had just lost Matt. I was lonely, most of all. That’s why I kept talking about it when we met up.”

 

“Are you okay, now? Do you want to…” He doesn't want to say _talk,_ exactly, but he’d do in a pinch if she wanted to vent.

 

“No, no—It's okay. I still miss him, because he was my friend, first, before we were together. But I'm happy now.” She glances at Curtis, still a ways away flagging down the bartender.

 

He doesn't know if it was his skewed perception of the world or not, but she looked and sounded anything but happy.

 

She must've caught his thoughts bleeding onto his face, because she laughed bitterly. “Not happy, then. Better.”

 

This time, his smile is earnest. He raises his water, but drinks in the sparkle in her eyes instead. “To better.”

 

“To better.” she repeats, clinking with him.

 

The rest of the night passes amicably, but when he crawls into bed he wants to sleep for a century.

 

* * *

 

One evening, on his way home from work, he runs into the person who makes him want to run closer and then the other way, usually at the same time.

 

She spoke first. “Pete!” she cried, eyes wide with surprise. She shuffled over almost guiltily, like she’d been caught doing something bad.

 

“Hey!” he said back, looking around them. No one else was there, but better to be safe than sorry. “Fancy seeing you here.”

 

“Yeah, totally weird.” She shook her head too hard, and his eyes narrowed. He finally noticed the bottle she had in her hand. Champagne - an expensive brand, at that.

 

“Where you goin’ with that?”

 

“Just back to my place.” She shook the bottle in her hand and shifted from one foot to the other. “I ran out.”

 

He swallows the bile making its way up his throat, realising exactly why she was buying champagne this late at night.

 

“Ah.”

 

Before he could stumble over anything else — namely a hasty goodbye — a man walked by and saw the two of them. He stopped, and Frank almost threw Karen behind him on instinct.

 

“You’re ex-marine, right?” The guy says, looking Frank up and down.

 

“That’s none of your goddamn business.” he countered quickly.

 

He snickers. “Yeah, you are. I know how we look. Figures.”

 

He turns back to Karen, nonplussed, but she spins around.

 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

 

“Karen—” he starts.

 

“I’ll _tell_ you what,” the man seethes. “Some of us are actually _productive_ members of society, and there are guys like you who ruin the ex-vet reputation for all of us. What are you doing, whoring yourself out in a backstreet alley? I used to receive discount coupons, but not anymore. Because of _you_.”

 

“Jesus.” Frank guffawed at his absurdity. “You’ve got some balls to say that to my face. What the hell are you talking about, man?”

 

“Do you really only care about _discount coupons_?” Karen backed him up, incredulous.

 

“Whatever.” The guy snapped.

 

She leapt towards him with her bottle raised and the man shrieked. He spun round as fast as humanly possible and sped off without looking back.

 

“Hey, dickhead!” she yelled after him, waving her free hand. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s been through more than you can imagine, so why dont you _back the hell off?_ ”

 

His eyes found the back of Karen’s head as the man disappeared, and he could tell she was shaking. “You okay?” he asks.

 

“Yeah. It— Sorry. Didn’t mean to explode like that.”

 

“Don’t be.” He clears his throat. “You didn’t have to do that, though.”

 

She sighed. “No, I didn't.” She turned around to face him, and he found himself locked onto her eyes. “But you would’ve knocked him senseless anyway, and doing it my way means the police aren't on my ass again.”

 

He finds himself wanting to tell her that no, he wouldn’t have started a fight, because he couldn’t care less about his dignity at this point in his life. But he keeps silent, in the face of her righteous anger.

 

Suddenly, she laughs. Too loud, and Frank recognises the cry for help in that noise, having done it too many times. “I feel like I’m going batshit crazy.” She rubs a hand through her hair, so hard he hears the scraping on her scalp. “It’s—Just—I have a good life. I have a job that has meaning for me, some friends, the kindest boyfriend I could ever ask for.” Her eyes pierce into his, and she breathes quickly in and out, the sound hitching and uneven. “But I’m not happy. Why aren’t I happy?”

 

He feels woefully inadequate to help her. He wished he had an answer.

 

“This is going to sound stupid, but here me out, okay?” he says tentatively.

 

“Okay.” she replies quickly, her eyes desperate.

 

“I go to Curt’s ex-marine group therapy thing, twice a week. You know about that?” She nods. Of course she does, it’s Curtis’ pride and joy. “I hate talking, especially about how I feel, and I know you do too. But it’s working, at least a little. I don't kill people now, so I guess it’s got something on me, right?”

 

The joke succeeds and she huffs.

 

“Maybe you could try it.” he continues. “Not the ex-marine group specifically, but talking to someone. Or if you wanted to… I don’t think anyone would mind…”

 

She laughs earnestly, now, and wipes away the tears on her face. “I’m good, Frank, thanks. I tried therapy, when I first came to New York.” she admits, and the look on his face must make her reconsider, because she pauses. “It didn’t work then. But that was... a while ago, and I wasn’t so ready to _explode_ like I am now. So, maybe. I could try it.”

 

He nods. “You were good, by the way. With that guy. Better than good. Almost shit his pants.”

 

“Thanks.” she says warmly, giving him a half smile. “Walk me home?”

 

“Gladly.” It comes out of his mouth before he thinks about it, and he sees Karen blink twice before she turns to walk.

 

They walk side by side pleasantly, shoulders brushing occasionally. She sticks close to him, he notices, but she doesn’t look scared of New York’s dark streets around them. He doesn’t question it. New York has small sidewalks.

 

He watches her open her door, his feet unable to move. She turns back to peek at him before she shuts it, and everything slows down until the world freezes.

 

The clouds over his eyes part, and he finally sees something that was always there.

 

He stood ramrod still, heaving, the cold realisation washing over him like a wave.

 

She was the sun, in that he had never looked at her directly, not really, but as she left she took a warmth with her— and in the beauty of the sunset, he wondered how he’d never really seen her before.

 

_How could he have never—_

 

* * *

 

The crash of concrete against the flat of his hammer echoed around the lot.

 

He swings. _Boom._ He swings. _Boom._ He swings. _Boom_.

 

He does it til his hands bleed, till the very cracks on his inside show on his skin.

 

He eats his lunch to a rhythm, a steady pulse he can follow. He concentrates on the taste of the sandwich, instead of the weight of her hand on his kevlar vest.

 

 _You’re not. You’re not._ Swing, boom.

 

 _Do not do this and say that it’s for me._ Swing, boom.

 

 _I trust you. You never lie to me._ Swing, boom.

 

 _Believe it or not, I actually care about what happens to you._ Swing, boom.

 

_He’s been through more than you can imagine, so why dont you back the hell off?_

Swing, boom.

 

He goes home sweating and bleeding, but its the tears in his eyes he is most afraid of.

 

* * *

 

They're the two people he loves most in the world, and he should be fucking ecstatic they've found reprieve in one another, but all he can think about…

 

Is how _in love_ with Karen he is. A shudder passes through him, and he starts to sob.

 

His admittance is too late, too late. In the privacy of his apartment, only he can hear his mournful cries.

 

Had he always known?

 

_I just wanted you to be safe._

 

_I will come for you._

 

He supposed he had. But that just makes him angrier at himself; if he wasn't so much a coward, perhaps she would be taking him back to her place, now, instead of his best friend.

 

And doesn't that send another bolt through him, _his best friend_ , in the arms of the only person who believed in Frank when no one else did. He wipes the tears off his face, rubbing it raw with his harsh swipes. He didn’t deserve to pity himself like this.

 

 _It's a good thing I'm already dead_ , he thought. _Because I lost the only shot at a second chance I had_.

 

* * *

 

He's human. Dead, maybe, but still a human. That means he feels things, perhaps things he really rather wouldn't.

 

He tries not to think of it. But his work is 8 hours of essentially staring at a wall, and it gives him thinking time when he would rather have none at all.

 

He thinks about Karen in bed, of all things. He tries not to, to respect Curt and Karen both, but he's only a man. He thinks of her hair, long and wild and soft, and how it might feel between his hands as he cupped her face.

 

He wished he'd taken the chance to do so in the elevator.

 

He wished he'd done _a lot_ of things in the elevator.

 

Swing. _Boom._

 

* * *

 

Frank was not accustomed to wanting. Wanting anything was what people who in lived in the world did, and he did not. He thought he had lost his ability to reach out for anything at all a long time ago.

 

But with Karen, with what he knows, how he _feels_ , he wants things again. He wants her, most of all, and it kills him that he cannot have the one thing that brought him back to life so many months ago.

 

Swing. _Boom._

 

* * *

 

He goes to Josie’s regularly, even though he still hates every single thing they serve. He goes there, not in the hopes of catching Curt and Karen, but in trying to feel something other than the loneliness.

 

He should've listened when she told him loneliness was an incurable infection, permeating and unavoidable. He wished to all god he'd taken her up on his _after_ , as she’d put it.

 

He talks to patrons. Gets into fights, at least a few. He tries not to cause too much of a stink; Karen deserved better than to have her door bashed in and questioned about The Punisher being on the loose again. She was the only one publicly connected to him, and he wouldn’t have it. Not if he could help it.

 

She deserved a thousand times over to be happy, and he would kill to give her that. But he supposes the goal was to _not_ kill. And he hadn’t — not for a good long while, now.

 

Though when he thinks about Curtis and Karen — over and over, day after day — it sends him into something he doesn’t like to name.

 

He takes a big swig of the whiskey he’d begrudgingly bought, relishing the burn. _Good. Burn, asshole._

 

* * *

 

Four months come and go, just like that. Frank doesn’t remember a day passing at all.

 

“Are you coming?” A voice prompts softly, and he zones back in.

 

“What?”

 

He’s not sure, but he swears he hears Curt cover the phone with his hand and sigh. The rustling stops.

 

“The party.”

 

He remembers how it went last time he tried to spend time with both of them, and he really doesn’t fancy repeating it.

 

“Oh.” He scoffs. “I would be an extremely recognizable guest, don’t you think?”

 

“It’s been a while. You look different.”  
  
“I _feel_ different,” he replies without thinking, and he starts again quickly before Curtis can question it. “I hate parties. You know I do.”

 

Curtis laughs, and there is the sudden _gush_ of water running in the back. Frank swears he hears a female voice call out. He tries to stop the tide in his chest before it bowls him over.

 

“Karen wants you to come, too.” Curtis insisted, and the rustling gets louder.

 

“Babe, I’m telling him!” He hears Curt chuckle, and then he yelps. “I swear! I swear! I am!”

 

Frank rubs his face with his hand. _Fucking hell._ If he has to hear one more cutesy session between them —

 

“Frank! Man, you’re so out of it today.”

 

He refrains from snapping that he’d been _out of it_ for a very long time, ever since he’d come home to a blood stained suburban home and the bodies of his two children. He’s since forgotten what his wife’s looked like, and that flits between being a blessing or a curse to him.

 

“Yeah.” he agreed, voice husky. He was aware of how belligerent he sounded, yet it was hard to stop. He finally _wanted_ , to live, and a whole... _mountain_ of other things. And the universe made sure to steer him clear of all of them.

 

Karen’s voice rang out through his phone, and he closed his eyes. “Is he—He’s still there?”

 

There was a pause, and rustling. Curtis laughed. “I’m doing it, Page! Have some patience!”

 

There was a loud scoff. “I’ll show _you_ patience—” Karen warned before she cut off. He moved the phone away from his ear and stared at the fading letters. _Call Ended. 6:02._

 

He didn’t have the heart to call back right away. He thought about how they were currently playing a tug of war with Curtis’ phone, and he really didn’t want to listen to more playful affection. He hates himself, that he’s become so bitter. But then again, when wasn’t he?

 

* * *

 

He turns up. Barely.

 

In a suit rented from the crappiest tailor he could find in New York, no less. He had never cared about what people thought of his wealth, especially through appearance, and he had no inclination to start now.

 

Despite that, he fiddles with his bowtie like a boy at prom as he enters the ballroom.

 

It's ridiculous, really, the way he stops in amazement. He’s been to a few before; as a marine, he was invited to countless parties and meetings. But the lights, the dazzling colours, still get to him. He takes that as a good sign, that he can still enjoy sights like this.

 

He spots Curtis and Karen almost immediately; they were the center of a crowd of people, two gleaming pillars reflecting off every glass surface in the room. They looked so good together it made Frank want to spin on his heels at the sight and run in the other direction.

 

He slowly shambles over. They both spot him and whistle appreciatively.

 

“Okay,” he cautioned playfully, “okay, thank you, that’s enough of checking me out. Both of you.”

 

They both smiled at him in tandem, and he really thought he could die right then from overexposure to the best things in his life.

 

“Meet our new friends, Pete.” Curtis winked unsubtly and Frank rolled his eyes. “This one is Doug, the brother of the host.”

 

“He’s also a great engineer, aren’t you Doug?” Karen added, and Frank observed the way her red dress curled round as she turned to him. It was really a beautiful dress, but it wouldn't mean a thing if Karen wasn’t wearing it. Her hair was down, and Frank resisted reaching out. It had been so long since he’d seen her.

 

“What do you do, Pete?” Doug inquired, snapping him out of his reverie.

 

He has to push back the intrusive image of bright red blood running down his hand, the hammer held in them stained. He thinks about how he has nothing but time to contemplate how fucked his life is. How he was deeply, ruinously in love with Karen Page, who was many things, but most disastrously his best friend’s girlfriend. How he’d really been dumb enough to only realise this when it was too late.

He settles on, “I work for a building company. I’m the one who breaks down the old walls so they can rebuild. Everyone says they want that job but they don’t, really.”

Beside him, Karen and Curt laugh. The man in front of him doesn’t crack a smile.

 

“Do you enjoy it?” he prods, tilting his head to examine Frank.

 

“I, uh…” He breathes in. “Sometimes. It’s sure not a quiet or easy job but it's… peaceful, I guess. The rhythm of it.” He looks down at his drink. “I get to think while I work on a wall.”

 

The man nods, like he knows, but Frank can see he doesn’t have a clue. “That sounds interesting.”

 

“Not really.” he confesses.

 

The man rubs his ear and looks away briefly.

  
_Great,_ Frank thinks. _Five minutes in and I’ve already made someone uncomfortable._

 

“What about you, Doug? What do you do?” Karen jumps in, and he almost cries in relief.

 

Doug begins talking, and Karen gives him a brief glance that said _you’re welcome._ His insides warm dangerously, and he has to look away.

 

* * *

 

He talks to Curtis for a long while, but he explains that he has to mingle a little, since this is a party. Frank understands, but then he is left in the middle of a crowd of people he doesn't know.

 

After a while, a tall dark-skinned woman approaches him, prosecco in one hand and her shiny purse in the other.

 

“Hey. I’m Veronica.” she greets him warmly, and he finds himself able to rustle up a small smile.

 

“Hey, Veronica. Frank.” he replies. “How are you finding the party?”

 

“Personally?” She leans in, voice low. “I think it blows.”

 

He nods knowingly. “I feel ya. Were you invited or a plus one?”

 

Her eyes flicker around his face, back to his eyes. “Invited. I have no one to be a plus one for.”

 

“Oh. Cool.” Frank says distractedly, but in the distance he watches as Karen laughs and has to stop her drink from spilling. He almost grins at the sight.

 

There is a moment of silence, and he looks back at Veronica, who is staring at her drink.

 

“I’m sorry. It’s— I don’t mean to be a dick. It’s no excuse, but I have a lot on my mind.” he confided.

 

She sighed, and he finally noticed how sad her brown eyes were. “God, I get you there.”

 

Usually, he would say nothing and let the moment pass. Frank Castle did not get involved, nor did he care.

 

But he thought about his countless nights at Josie’s, drowning the loneliness away with the shittiest selection of alcoholic drinks he’d ever tasted.

 

“What happened?” he asks her finally, shifting on his feet.

 

“Mean coworkers, low income. Passionate and undying unrequited love. You know— the usual.”

 

He guffaws all of sudden, and something in him uncoils. “I actually _do_ know.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” she teases lightly, examining him. “I can’t imagine anyone would say no to you.”

 

He feels a blush creeping up his cheeks. “I haven’t asked.” he admits, biting his lip.

 

“ _What?_ ” she cried. “Then how do you—”

 

“She already has a partner.”

 

Veronica winces, and he appreciates the sympathy lancing across her face. “Oh, man. That’s rough.”

 

He looks down at his drink sullenly, unable to reply.

 

* * *

 

Veronica leaves, and he wishes her well. He tells her he hopes it works out, and she replies, almost knowingly, “Oh, it will.”

 

Curtis finds him again, and drags him over to the crowd formed around Karen, who is talking animatedly. “It was so unfair. Who were they to say what the people wanted? It was clear enough from the polls that they wanted him out, but then, with—”

 

Curtis throws him into the ring. “I found him,” he announces, sloting himself back into place beside Karen.

 

Everyone around her turns as she does. “Where’d you go?” she asks him.

 

“Uh. I thought you guys wanted some space. I was just—” He tries to gesture around him. “Eating. Talking.”

 

The people around him turn to talk to each other, seemingly bored of Frank already. Only Karen holds his gaze.

 

“I saw you talking to a woman earlier.” she teases, smiling.

 

“Yeah,” he agreed dryly, acting oblivious. “There were a few.”

 

“No.” She rolls her eyes, persistent. “Not like that. _Talking._ ”

 

He chuckles, but the sound is hollow. A rattling as his empty chest shakes.

 

“No, Karen. I’m not interested in anyone.”

 

He barely holds back from admitting that he talks to other women, flirting— or, more likely, just to talk to someone — because God help him, it was still all about Karen.

 

It was like fighting a losing battle against the ocean, kicking and flailing against something that came and went with an unbeatable force.

 

“Alright.” She pokes him in the same spot she’d brushed in the elevator. “Whatever you say.”

 

He thanks her internally for leaving it alone, that she saw he was in no state to joke. He remembered the countless time she visited him in jail during his trial, and she would only ever tease him when he set the tone for it. He often didn’t; maybe he’d be thinking about the softness of his children’s hands against his, or the way his wife would lean her head on his when she was upset. But she would always understand, and give him that space.

 

His chest twists twice over, and he really hopes Veronica finds love, because he doesn’t like the idea of her feeling this way too.

 

* * *

 

Karen and Curtis do their best to get him involved, but everyone they’re talking with seems nonplussed. He tells himself over and over again that he didn’t care, but his sense of feeling had come back like a flood of returning soldiers, and they were here to stay.

 

He thought he could handle tonight. But being close to her, inches away, the warmth from her bleeding through his suit, he realises he can’t handle it all.

 

Could he ever be around them again? What happens if they get married? Would he phase out of their lives, a nostalgic memory from their younger days? _You remember Frank Castle? I wonder what happened to him?_ They’d say, holding hands.

 

He covered his face with his hand. Jesus, was he _Scrooge_? _Here lies Frank Castle, Asshole and Murderer. We’re selling his drapes for ten shillings._ _He meant nothing to nobody who is still alive in the world._

 

Frank realises — finally, after all this time —that he was just a sad old man, alone and meaningless. The drink in his hand and the suit he wears fades, and Frank can see himself more clearly than he ever has. Without garnishes and costumes.

 

All his life he had clawed his way to try to be something, tearing flesh and creating scars on himself and other people in the process. He’d done everything he possibly could to fit in, to be some _one_.

 

But he was nothing.

 

Karen suddenly turned sharply and looked at him, shock in her eyes. Frank could do nothing but stare back, and he was already longing for a woman who had never left.

 

“Don’t you dare say that.” she hissed.

 

He balked. “What?”

“You know damn well what you said. Don’t you ever—” She huffed and grabbed his arm, dragging him away. Frank turned back, mystified, and he saw a perplexed Curtis staring after them.

 

She shoves him into a deserted corner, and half of the untouched champagne in his glass ends up over his tux.

 

“What the—”

 

“You _idiot._ ”

 

“Jesus, Karen. _What?_ ”

 

“You’re ‘ _nothing’_?” she fumed, eyes wide. “Do you really believe that?”

 

“How did—” He stops. “Did I say that out loud?”

 

Her brow furrows. “The hell do you think?”

 

“I didn’t mean to—”

 

“No, I didn’t think so. But you did. And I heard.” She breathes deep, and the lines around her eyes soften. “Somehow, over all that noise, I heard.”

 

Frank finds he can’t speak. He wouldn't know what to say, anyway. He didn’t mean to bare his soul like that again, had never meant to disturb the peace. To Karen most of all, who was happy without him.

 

All of a sudden she takes his free hand with her own, and the warmth in it astounds him.

 

He watches silently as she quickly looks back at Curtis, a million miles away. When she turns to him again, the look in her eyes shakes him to his core.

 

“You’re not nothing.” she whispers. ”Not to me.”

 

She stares into him, and he recognises the soul bared in her eyes like an old friend.

 

“Not to me.” she shakes her head emphatically, squeezes his hand. “Not ever. Do you hear me?”

 

“I love you.”

 

The words shoot out before he can stop them.

 

Karen drops his hand like it burned.

 

“Fuck.” he stammers. “I didn’t—”

 

Her eyes widen and her face crumples, like she took a blow. Lightning shoots through him, an immediate regret collapsing his chest.

 

“Karen.” He can’t find his voice.

 

She steps back.

 

“I didn’t mean that,” he lied, and he frantically shook his head. “No, screw that. I did. I don’t lie. Red does that. I did. But I _didn’t_ mean to say—”

 

He stops, the ramble fruitless. She searches his face frantically, a horror on her face he had never wanted to cause. He had worked so hard to _prevent_ it, to prevent murderers and assholes from getting to her, and yet here he was, doing all their hard work himself.

 

The horror turns into something else, something Frank can’t place, and she flees before he can stop her.

 

“Karen!” he calls, not caring who heard.

 

She does not look back.

 

* * *

 

Curtis doesn’t talk to him for three weeks.

 

It takes Frank blowing up his phone every single night after work, until he went to sleep, and then again in the morning before his shift. Frank knew Curtis’ ringer was always on, because he used it as an alarm. It was one of the smartphone capabilities he’d never been able to utilize that Curtis had taken to easily. He never answered until the third week, when he snapped.

 

“Jesus Christ in hell, Frank, stop calling me!” His voice was blurred with sleep.

 

“Not until you tell me Karen’s okay. She changed her phone number.” he retorted quickly.

 

Curtis sighed exaggeratedly. “Straight to point, at least.” He mumbled something to himself and Frank gripped his phone tighter. “She’s fine. Please stop calling me every goddamn day.”

 

There was a rustle as he brought the phone down from his ear.

 

“Wait _—_!” Frank cried.

 

“You said you’d stop if I told you she’s okay!”

  
“I never said exactly that,” he argued slyly. “I _also_ want you to talk to me. Cause I know you’re mad at me, and don’t say you aint, cause I know you.”

 

Curtis spoke muffled through his hand, and Frank could perfectly picture the image of him cradling his head with his palm. “Frank, I really dont have the energy to argue with you about this. I don't know what the hell you said to her, but she wouldn't talk to me for days, starting with the morning after.”

 

“Then I’ll _tell_ you what I said.” he pleaded, a bolt going through him at the thought. “Just please let me explain myself. Can we meet? After your next group?”

 

“Alright, alright.” he moaned. “Can I _please_ sleep now?”

 

“Yeah, Curtis. Goodnight.”

 

Frank chuckled as he swore loudly and hung up.

 

* * *

 

“How much did she tell you?” Was the first thing out of his mouth after the parade of ex-vets had left.

 

Curtis sighed. “Karen told me _something_ happened. She didn’t say what.” He dropped one of the chairs onto the pile roughly.

 

“Right,” Frank stalled, starting to stack the plastic chairs on his side. “But she’s really okay?”

 

“Yes. I didn’t like that she wouldn’t talk to me for a while, but… in retrospect…” He paused, stopping to give Frank a look. “I get it.”  
  
“What?” he asked, clueless. “Why are you lookin’ at me like that?”

 

He groaned loudly and threw another chair onto the pile. “I respect you, man, but sometimes you can be dumb as a rock.”

 

Frank shook his head. “Huh?”

 

“Fine. We’ll start slow. Something happened at that party. You said you’d explain. So go.” He waved one hand out theatrically.

 

Frank felt everything in him uncoil and rush to the surface. He had to hold back tears, to stop from breaking down. “It’s been killing me, Curt. I’m so goddamn unhappy.”

 

“Jesus, what the hell happened within the _two minutes_ you disappeared?”

 

“No, It’s _—_ kinda that, but it started before then.” He rolled his shoulders, dread building in his gut. He thought about Veronica, who had at least asked for what she wanted, even if she didn’t get it. “I told Karen I loved her.”

 

The surprise on Curtis’ face was much less than Frank had expected. “Holy shit.”

 

It felt anticlimactic, compared to the eureka moment he’d had. He almost _wanted_ confetti to fly out the sides through the walls, alarms to blare _—_ something.

 

There was only this. Silence.

 

“A _—_ and I swear to you I didn't mean to. I would never… not on purpose. But I ‘spose I’ve already screwed that up.” He rubbed his temples.

 

Curtis doesn’t reply, waiting. Frank thinks he’s already guessed the next line.

 

“If she wants me, I gotta be with her. I came to ask _—_ to beg, really _—_ if you would be okay with it.”

 

“Why haven't you said anything before now? It’s been five months. It's so far past late, Frank. I almost…” He runs a hand over his head sluggishly. “You're just… you’re unbelievable.” Curtis swallows, tilts his head back. Frank watches nervously. “But I guess it’s no great shock. I asked her out even though I _knew_ you had a thing for her. It’s easy to spot you liked her from day one.”

 

“What?” he squeaked.

 

Curtis rolled his eyes. “Don’t even try to come in here, tell me to stop dating her, and walk out without even admitting that to yourself.”

 

“It—” He stops, unsure. “I have. That’s why I’m doing this.”

 

Curtis gives him a glare.

 

“ _Believe_ _me_ , Curt, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t know that. Okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

He doesn’t continue, but the silence is pointed. Frank tries to fill it.

 

"She's the..." He gulped. "She's the only other person in the world who believes I can be good. That I can do better. She has such faith in me and after so long of having no one to believe in me like she does... I want it, now. I rely on it. I don't want to let her down. Rather chop my arm off, you know?"  
  
Curtis raises one eyebrow and glances down at his fake leg.  
  
Frank starts. "Jesus. I didn't mean—"  
  
Curtis smirks, just a little. "Yeah, I know. I just love seeing you struggle."  
  
"Screw you." he teases back. The smile lessens. "You get what I mean. I don't want her to be wrong. But I... I don't know if I can be that guy." He looks up to meet Curtis' eye, and down again. "I'm trying. I am. But knowing someone _thinks_ I can be good, whether they're right or wrong, it's... it's something. It's really something, you know?"  
  
Curtis looks at him, thoughtful. "I know."  
  
Frank shifts.

 

“God, I’m sorry. I should’ve let you two be happy, but that’s… thats me. Selfish, broken.”

 

“Jesus. Shut up, man. None of that is true.” Curtis looks down at his hands. “At least, not to me.”

 

“Christ, you sound like Karen.”

 

Curtis exhales softly, a far away look in his eye. “Or... if whatever you believe about yourself _is_ true, it's not permanent. People can change. You can change.”

 

“Now you sound like a therapist. This job was made for you.”

 

“Stop changing the subject. I still need a good confession for this 360 you’re doing to me.”

 

Frank shifts again, and breathes deep. If Curtis needed it, then he could muster up the courage.

 

“Karen’s funny,” he starts softly, “and she’s kind. But she can be scathing, too, which I like. She gave Fisk a kick up the ass, and now he’s in prison. She’s yelled at me more than once, when I was being an ass during my trial.” He waves his hands. “And she has this look on her face when she does it, like shes half amused, half pissed off… It’s incredible.” He can see it in his mind’s eye, and he chuckles. “Yeah. She picked a sensible model of gun, instead of a fancy one. She stutters when she’s flustered, and drinks coffee blacker than I do. She’s much smarter than me, and I couldn't be more proud of that fact. And I’m telling you, I’m telling you, she can see things, can connect dots, faster than Einstein. Her articles are always poetry, even when she doesnt mean them to be. She’s sad, sometimes, and a little chipped on the inside, like me, you know? I feel closer to her than… anyone.” He pauses. “Jesus, I sound like a kid. _Her hair is soft and her smile is pretty. I hope she asks me to prom!_ ” He laughs at himself. “You probably knew all of that anyway. But…I wanna be with her. I’m sad when she’s not around, and embarrassingly excited when she is. I don’t want to lose all that, not ever. I don't even _have_ it yet, technically, but I don't wanna lose it.”

  
Curtis blinks. Once. Twice.

 

Frank watches as he slowly exhales, rubbing his palms on his jeans. "That was a hell of a roundabout way of telling me you love her."  
  
  
"Curt...” he begs.

  
"You ain't gotta say it again, man. It's all over your face, in your voice. You don't talk about just anyone like that." Curtis held his gaze pointedly.

  
Frank closes his eyes, and in a millisecond he sees each of his family flash before his eyes.

 

_Sarah’s my wife, Sarah’s my family—_

 

_Listen to me. Listen. So is Karen._

  
  
"I guess I don't," he replies absentmindedly.

 

Curtis suddenly snorted. “You’re _way_ too intense about this. I liked Karen just fine, but I can find someone else. You’re like a penguin.”

 

“Huh?” He grunts, looking back up at him.

 

“They mate for life.” He explains. “You know, one penguin in the universe for you.”

 

“I’ve been lucky, then. I’ve met two.”

 

“Yeah.” Curtis nods solemnly. There is a few seconds of silence. “When we talked after the party, there was something more to her sudden distance. We talked, and she broke up with me.”

 

Frank’s heart flutters and he almost laughs at himself again. “Oh.” He thinks for a second. “Hang on _—_ you've been single for _three weeks?_ You made me say all that shit for nothing?”

 

Curtis grins. “Kinda. I wanted you to finally admit it, since… well, I don't want to put words in her mouth, but I don't think it's one sided. She told me what you said _—_ about being nothing _—_ and I agree, you’re an idiot. We both care about you, Frank. We’d be devastated if you died. You have to know that.”

 

“Thank you.” Frank says softly. He pauses, suddenly timid. “I love you, man.”

 

“Asshole.” Curtis grumbled. “I love you too.”

 

* * *

 

He didn’t need Curtis’ permission to ask Karen out, by any means, especially since they were already over, but it was nice to have it.

 

Still, his knees almost shook at the thought, especially after her reaction at the party.

 

He came home from work one day to find a note in his mailbox. Frank was instantly on alert; nobody ever sent him mail apart from his bills, and this didn’t look like one he’d seen before.

 

He slides out the thick cream paper with curious eyes.

 

_Tuesday. Josie’s, 8 o’clock._

 

His eyes scrambled to the jumble of numbers written below it, and his brow creased for a moment before he realised. Her new number.

 

He choked out a sob.

 

* * *

 

Frank didn’t want to admit he dressed up, but compared to the shit-heels at Josie’s, he looked like he did. He shaved as close as he could without removing his facial hair entirely. He still needed it to be incognito.

 

When he spots her, sitting alone and nursing a beer, he contemplates running away and calling her instead.

 

But he was a person who preferred to have potentially life-altering conversations in person, rather than on the phone. Before Maria, the only other girlfriend he’d had broke up with him by calling his landline. He never heard the end of it from his parents.

 

He musters up the courage to take the seat next to her.

 

“You want a drink?” she says casually, picking at the label on hers.

 

“No thanks.” He clears his throat. The bar was bustling, but somehow she’d managed to save two seats. His mouth twists a little at the image of her shouting at someone like she’d done to the guy that insulted him. “I want to ask something.” He braces himself for riling up the elephant in the room.

 

“Shoot.”

 

“One question…” He manages, voice low, the shake unmistakable. “Did you ever… consider it? Did it ever cross your mind?”

 

“No,” she answered quickly. The anchor in his gut sunk lower.

 

“Not until the night following the party.” she continued, and he looked up at her in surprise. “It was only…” She struggled, looking away at the door. He waited with bated breath. “It was only when we were done. Wrapped up in his arms, all I could think of was how I wanted them to be yours.”

 

He felt the sky land on top of him. “Karen.” He chokes, and he resists the urge to jump up, scream, or pound anything with the buildup inside of him. “Karen. I've wanted this for so long. _For so long._ And I feel like the scum of the earth for telling you like that, when you were just trying to make me feel better.”

 

“It wasn’t that, dummy. That didn’t scare me. It was how much…” She blinks, softly, fighting back tears. “What scared me was how much I reciprocated.”

 

He blinked. “What?”

 

“I didn’t know. I had no idea I felt that way until you said… what you said at that party.” She shook her head, looking away. “It was over for us after that. I couldn't look at him, knowing what I felt. What I had denied I'd felt for a long time.” Her eyes were red-rimmed, but trained on him with a fierceness. “I admire Curtis. I do. But he can never be… what you are to me. We were good. I could’ve been happy with him.” She choked up. “But it’s not enough. How could it be, in a universe where I’ve already met you?"

 

Frank closes his eyes, and if he'd been told just then that he died hours ago and this was heaven, he would believe it eagerly.

 

“I don't understand.” he managed to say, voice shaky.

 

She huffed impatiently and spelt it out for him. “I love _you_.”

 

He doesn't remember feeling like this with Maria, and the very comparison makes him terrified that she’ll be gunned down in front of him, too. Everyone who has loved him is punished, somehow, like God himself disapproved of Frank’s existence. And he was scared.

 

“Oh.” he said faintly, and it sounded very far away.

 

“I do want to say, though…” she continued, shooting him a concerned glance. “This isn’t going to fix me. Being with you would be… indescribable, but it wont change that fact that I need help to feel better.”

 

“I know.” he assured. This was something he understood. “Trust me, I know. The same goes for me. But if you’ll have me, we can at least be together. Even if we’re both trainwrecks.”

 

She chokes on her drink, and she giggles so hard he has to pat her back. He thinks he may remember the way she had said I love _you,_ forever.

 

The smile on her face doesn’t wane, and she playfully spins around in her chair to face him head on. He could get used to this.

 

“Yeah.” she agrees, warmth in her face, voice and eyes _—_ every bit of her.“Yeah, this’ll be fun.”

 


End file.
